You never really know someone until you talk to them at 4am
by oddlyfamiliar
Summary: "So, what are you wearing?" Mike asks, his voice deliberately low and flirty, and Ginny can't help but laugh down the phone at him. (Mike/Ginny, Bawson)


Based on this tumblr prompt: _the first time mike says 'i love you' ginny (at his house)_

I cheated a little, because only Mike is at his house...

* * *

"So, what are you wearing?" Mike asks, his voice deliberately low and flirty, and Ginny can't help but laugh down the phone at him.

"Are you really going there? Trying to solidify your status as a pervy old man?" Ginny shifts slightly and lays back against her pillows, sinking deeper into her bed.

"If the shoe fits," he acknowledges, and Ginny can hear random bursts of sound down the line: he must be flicking through channels again. "But you avoided the question, rook. What're you wearing?"

Ginny grins to herself. It's taken them a long time to get back to the place where they can talk like this. Things had been… rough after everything with Amelia and the Nike party and Duarte starting as catcher. But they've finally made it back here, and Ginny has spent almost every night for the last two weeks falling asleep to the sound of Mike's voice in her ear.

She's never felt so at ease, and so goddamn _frustrated_ , in her entire life.

"I'm not sure your heart can take that kind of information, old man," she teases, continuing this dance they keep refusing to outright acknowledge. She knows he's attracted to her, she's not an idiot. And God knows she's attracted to him. But neither of them can do anything about it, not yet. They've never said anything, but as far as Ginny's concerned it's just a waiting game; he's already told her, privately, that he's considering one more season after this and then retiring so he can have reconstructive surgery on his knees. And when he retires, he'll no longer be a ballplayer, and she won't have to break any of her rules.

Until then, they both seem to be clinging to this ruse; that they're just good friends and nothing more.

"You're naked aren't you, Baker?"

She laughs at that. "No…," she draws out, glancing down at the practically threadbare Padres shirt she's wearing that barely covers her panties. "I'm wearing something I used to sleep in when I was younger."

"Hmm, interesting. Are we talking about an old boyfriend's shirt or something?"

Ginny hesitates at that, unsure how to respond for a moment. "Not exactly…"

"I need some clues, Baker, otherwise I'm just going to assume you're naked."

"I'm wearing a Padres shirt," she admits, her heart beating a little faster as she waits for him to connect the dots.

It doesn't take him long. "What number?" he asks, his voice sounding hoarse.

"Thirty-six."

There's a moment, a long moment, where all she can hear is his breathing. There's catch in it, right after she tells him she's wearing his number, and she knows that they're treading close to that unspoken line in the sand.

"What else?" he says, finally.

His voice sparks along her nerve endings and settles low down in her belly. She's embarrassingly aware of how wet she is, of how hard her nipples are right now, and she knows she should put a stop to this.

"Just my panties."

" _Fuck_ , Gin," he grunts at her. "You can't just… you can't say that to me."

"What are _you_ wearing, Mike?" Ginny can't help how breathless she sounds, it just _happens_.

"Just my boxers."

Ginny squirms, her thighs pressing tightly together as she pictures him sprawled across his sofa, practically naked. " _Mike_ ," she moans, "what are we doing?"

He doesn't say anything at first, there's just the sound of his harsh breathing down the line. "Yeah, we should… we should hang up now, before things go further than we're ready for right now."

She knows he's right. She does. But all Ginny wants to do right now is listen to him while he talks her into putting her hands down her panties. She wants him to coach her through an orgasm, and she wants to listen to him jerk off, knowing he's touching himself while he thinks about her.

But they're not ready for that, not yet.

"Goodnight, Mike," she says quietly.

"Night, Gin," he says back. She doesn't hang up the phone though, wanting to listen to him breathe for a second longer. She barely even hears him as he whispers. "Love you."

She doesn't hesitate. "I love you, too."

They might not be able to cross that line yet, but the least they can do is admit how they feel to each other. She ends the call and smiles. She can wait as long as it takes.


End file.
